Jack of Spades
by Maevenly
Summary: AU Harry faced Voldemort but Death Eaters rallied. Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ron, Blaise and the Order scramble to wage a war they don't know how to fight. The Wizarding world and Hermione's sanity hang by a heartstring. Draco/Hermione/Harry, Draco/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

Jack of Spades

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><p>Prologue:<p>

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><p><em>How the hell did it come to this?<em>

Internal dialogue couldn't drown out the sounds of a body thrashing against another body, of incoherent grunting, struggling, and heavy footfalls.

Another blood-curdling scream clawed at every wall, window, and corner of the three-storey safe house.

Frantic, manic, pleas – to be released, let go, put down, _get your bloody hands off of me!_ – escalated into threats, promises of retribution and vile curses.

Then, she screamed again.

Harry's forward march was anything but mechanical. Ron brought up the rear, his curt replies to unwanted queries punctuated the deeper inhales and mutterings made by the man who was doing what neither one of them could do.

Every person Harry shouldered out of the way, glared at so that they'd step aside, or ignored when questioned about what was going on, caught a glimpse of his fear, panic and shame. Who saw what, and how much, depended on how well they knew him.

A hiss of surprise and an exhaled breath of pain made him pause and turn his head.

Trapped within the taller man's arms was what was once his best friend. Now, she was someone who only shared the same height, size, and coloring as Hermione: dark hair, dark eyes, skin tinted with gold and pink. Her arms and torso were locked against Malfoy's. Her eyes never ceased to move. Some internal panic had taken hold of her and Harry had no idea as to what to do to help her. All he knew was that she wouldn't want to be spectacle.

Somehow, she'd managed to get one foot down to the floor. With the strength that comes from being in the throes of madness, she pushed against the hallway's runner, sending her and her guardian into the wall.

Malfoy's teeth clattered when his head and shoulders struck papered plaster. His grip on her slackened on impact.

St. Mungo's was out of the question as there was no way to guarantee her safety at the busy hospital. The anti-Apparition wards at Grimmauld Place would Splinch whoever side-alonged her.

It was Malfoy who had taken charge. The man still wore his traveling cloak, having just come back from a mission. Dirt from Godric-knows-where trailed from his boots. It was Malfoy who had been the only one to step forward, use his body like a walking straight-jacket, and forcibly man-handle her to a less public area of the house.

Harry still hadn't wrapped his head around Hermione and Malfoy's relationship, what it actually consisted of, but it was real enough that, in the isolated moments of lucidity, his presence was the only one she responded to; his words of calm and reassurance some how parted her layers of mania.

A primal growl reached Harry's ears; Hermione wrenched herself away from Malfoy.

"Potter, don't!"

Harry's wand wanted to fire a cushioning charm. But he didn't. They were in a Muggle neighborhood. Magic could be traced and they were in hiding.

Malfoy lurched forward. Muscles bunched and corded as he snagged Hermione's trailing arm. His forward momentum was too much for the confined space. He hauled her back to his chest and did the best he could to make sure he took the brunt of the impact when they collided against the opposite side of the hallway. This time, though, he clutched her tighter and lifted her enough so that her feet couldn't touch the floor.

"Blimey." Ron's murmur was the understatement of the moment.

A fresh round of thrashing, clawing, and screaming erupted.

"Put me _down_!"

"Let me _go_!"

"Get your hands _off of me_ you fucking-"

"Who do you think you _are_?! What the _fuck_ are you doing?!"

"_You have NO FUCKING RIGHT_!"

A strangled sob. A moment of clarity. "Oh, God – I can't… It _hurts_…." Her right hand attempted to cradle her left arm, the source of her pain.

Harry's shame doubled. No sooner had he touched eyes with Draco Malfoy than the little voice inside his head started to chant: _thankGodit'snotmethankGodit'snot methankGodit'snotme_.

Between the three of them, they got her up a second flight of stairs.

Trailing Ron were members of the Order, people who called her 'friend', people she had saved with her bravery and cleverness, and the morbidly curious.

"Move, Potter! _Now_!"

Malfoy's grunted order restarted his forward motion. Harry didn't even realize his thoughts had stalled his feet.

Down another hallway, up one last flight of stairs, they made a right turn at the landing. The attic was their destination.

Malfoy's strength, mental and physical, had to be waning. How far could he half-drag-half-carry someone who fought like every step was her last?

Realization that he would've broken down by now prickled the backs of his eyes.

Last door on the left… Harry grasped the knob and turned it. The latch gave easily. He stepped inside and propped it open.

Malfoy had to turn sideways in order to haul himself and Hermione through the door frame. Once inside the room, Malfoy released her with a push, propelling her towards the far wall.

"Leave – _now_ – Potter."

Malfoy's words came out in pants. His face shined with exertion even as he kept his gaze fixed warily on the woman who had backed into a far corner of the room. She stared at them like they were going to murder her.

Harry step-shuffled to the right, bringing the door with him. Ron's ginger head hovered at the threshold. The murmuring of others never strayed from his awareness.

Harry paused at the doorway, equal parts feeling the obligation to stay, to ride this out with Hermione, and escaping. He flicked his gaze to the man who was once a hated enemy and who was now an ally.

Three years of war would do that.

Malfoy's cloak was a puddle of black fabric on the floor. His head and shoulders were propped against the wall opposite from where Hermione raged. His arms rested against his chest and his ankles were crossed. His stance was as non-threatening and familiar to her as he could possibly make it.

Harry felt anger from the blond stab him like a well-thrown knife.

"I said LEAVE!" Malfoy didn't shout. His vehemence carried nonetheless.

Emotionally wrung, Harry didn't have it in him to play any Slytherin-esque guessing games. What was important was Hermione.

"What happened to her?" Ron's question upped the tension exponentially.

Malfoy's grey eyes slid sideways. Contempt dilated his pupils. Harry felt the piercing lance of Legilimency spear his consciousness. Blame was laid clearly at his and Ron's feet as Malfoy dredged up select moments from nearly ten years of friendship.

"You did."

Harry couldn't speak. Normally, whatever foul, git-like, thing Malfoy flung his way, Harry had a come-back, could deflect.

Not this time. The images Malfoy shuffled forward from his memory were deliberately chosen. The most damning occurred over the course of the past one-hundred-twenty months.

Malfoy had spoken the truth, showed him the truth, and dared him to say otherwise. There was no 'otherwise' to counter the montage of proof that sustained his accusation.

Harry closed the door behind him. His back to the door, Ron crouched beside him. Hands tangled between their knees. Those who also cared about Hermione milled about a few meters away.

A fresh wave of wailing, screaming, and, at one point, sobbing, each punctuated by the deeper tones of Malfoy's voice.

No magic meant no silencing charms. No magic meant no privacy for any of them.

The least they could do was keep watch. That, and let their respective guilts fill the air and paint their faces with culpability.

They weren't alone. Others who had been part of the rescue party lingered in the hallways; some spoke quietly to a friend, others chewed their fingernails, most kept to their thoughts to themselves. Blaise Zabini stood on the edge of Harry's line-of-sight. The tall dark-skinned Slytherin fixed his eyes on the door at Harry's back but didn't project any consolation to anyone but the man beside him, the man on the other side of the attic door, and the woman the Snakes had adopted as one their own. Shoulder-to-shoulder with Zabini, Theo Nott slouched, hands across his chest. Nott, too, directed his considerable mental energies towards his best mates, Hermione included, he and Ron excluded. Padma and Hannah had sunk to the floor and sat side-by-side, their heads and thighs touching. No doubt the two girls would find additional comfort with each other later.

Harry tapped his head against the wooden door. He stilled for a moment, long enough to catch Ron's eyes.

They shared the same look. They had both seen it when her shirtsleeve rode past her elbow.

The bastards… Her kidnappers, her jailers, the men who took her, etched the Dark Mark into her skin.

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><p>This chapter: reworked a bit...cleaned up a bit... love to read what you think of it!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2: One for All

Chapter One

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><p><em><strong>May 2nd,<strong>_ **_1998: Twenty Minutes after the Battle of Hogwarts_**

"Harry…"

Her voice cuts through the growing buzzing in his head. The tug he feels on his hand, her palm firmly attached to his, is the only anchor he has.

The Elder Wand – broken and pitched into nothingness. The Resurrection Stone – lost. So many people dead… Fred, Snape, Sirius, Cedric, Moody. The list is longer than his short-term memory.

"Harry!"

She's more insistent. _Why is that?_ The yank she gives his arm makes him stumble towards her. One foot follows the other – she's leading him and he's letting her. Why shouldn't he? She's never let him down, she's never left him, never lied to him, never not believed in him. Of course he'll trust her.

"Harry – we've got to go. _Now_."

He barely registers her rising panic.

The Battle for Hogwarts was over – wasn't it? They won – didn't they? Voldemort was dead – no question about that; Tom Riddle's un-natural body disintegrated into ash and that ash was scattered by the wind. A cleansing breath made by the very Earth itself.

Ron's head bobbed up and down. It was interesting to watch, even if all he saw was a blur of red.

_He's running. Why is Ron running? Why is Ron's hand curled around my upper arm? Why does he have a fist-full of my jacket? Why is Ron pushing me in Hermione's direction?_

Bits of rubble bounce off of the toes of his trainers and he can't help but watch as they bump and roll.

_Hermione will get me to where I need to be_.

Streaks of black smoke, like comets of ink falling through the sky, barrel-roll on a path towards the castle. Some where, beyond the myriad of random thoughts ricocheting in his mind, he can pick-out the call for Hogwarts to be abandoned. For the dead to be left behind and the injured evacuated. For a line of defense to be formed to cover the escape.

The great doors that separate the outer wall of the castle from the outside world loom in front of him; the massive chains meant to fortify the magically enhanced wood dangle free, no long able to provide protection for anyone within the castle's walls.

"HARRY!"

It's her again. The one who willingly spent her time in that blasted tent for months on end. The one who wanted to run away with him. The one who comforted him – and allowed him to comfort her – all these years. The one he almost kissed because her need was as great as his. The one… The one Ron accused him of harboring feelings for… The one whose almost-kiss made him feel _more_, more _deeply_, than any kiss he ever shared with Ginny.

She looked up and over his head.

"Ron – take him. Get him out of here."

"What about you? You've gone over the edge if you think I'm going to leave you here-"

"I'm going back. McGonagall – she doesn't know-"

"Know 'what'? No. I don't like it."

"Don't. Argue. With. Me! He can't be here. You see how he is!"

"Yeah – alright. But I don't like it."

"Ron – _go_! There's no time for this!"

Something passed between them, something that was a blur of color and indefinable shapes.

_What did Hermione give Ron that she can't give me?_

"_Portus_."

_I know that spell…_

"Ron – for the love of Merlin – _go_!"

_Hermione – what are you looking at? What's behind me and what's above me that's got you so interested?_

_Ohh, look Hermione. I see more ink comets._

"I'll see you there, okay Ron?"

"'Mione, I-"

Harry tilted his head, he took in the resolved, scared look in her eyes. He focused on the shape of her lips, how they framed the words she was speaking. The weight and warmth of her hands resting lightly on the curves of his shoulders challenged his concentration.

"Harry – you need to go with Ron, now. Okay? I'll be okay, okay? Just hold on until I get there, Harry. You're going to be okay, I promise."

A hook snagged his navel.

He missed her brown eyes as everything blurred together one more time.

* * *

><p>Hermione let go of Harry's shoulders and only caught a glimpse of Ron's expression before both her boys vanished.<p>

Ron wasn't happy with her. He didn't like the fact that she separated herself from him so soon. She allowed herself to dwell on the ginger's antics for two minutes.

_He'll get over it. _

_And if he doesn't? _A snippy little voice, one that sounded a lot like her when she was having a bad day, asked pointedly.

_I said: he'll get over it. _

That little voice didn't contradict her.

Bellatrix's wand felt hard, cold, and alien in her hand.

_I'll get over that, too._

Her two minutes were up.

Focusing, she aimed the tip at the nearest wall.

"_Reducto_!"

Chunks of stone and masonry flew inward, towards her. She lifted her arms to protect her face and twisted her body away from the blast. The ensuing dust hadn't settled when she waved the insane woman's wand once more.

A wash of magic soaked into the newly created debris.

"_Accio_ Portkeys."

Jagged bits of rock flew into the make-shift bag she created out of her jacket. She was careful not to allow any skin to touch the stones she carried.

She ran towards the castle.

Everyone she saw, student, faculty, Order member, received a stone.

Sections of her hair slipped free of her braid. A spray of broken glass and shattered rampart had her side-stepping blindly to the left.

Her shoulder collided with someone garbed in black.

The time it took her to find her footing should have been the time it took for her fear to choke her.

Lucius Malfoy towered next to her. Beside him, attached at the hand, was Narcissa Malfoy. Bringing up the rear, stood Draco.

She grasped their situation as she found her footing.

"Go – get out of here. They'll be after you, too."

Without a second thought, she handed each of them a piece of Hogwarts. Interestingly enough, none of them passed it back to her.

She wasn't being vague on purpose. Time was critical and they all knew what she was talking about. The Malfoys had turned on 'their own kind'. No where would be safe for them. The least she could do was give them a chance at escaping.

She pressed her heels down and pushed off with her toes. She continued her sprint to the Great Hall. Faces rushed by her; her hand shot out over and over.

Dennis Creevey got a stone.

Justin Finch-Fletchley got a stone.

Dean Thomas, head bleeding and favoring his right side and assisting Hannah Abbot, they each got a stone.

Natalie MacDonald got a stone. As did the blinded boy who held her hand, Anthony Goldstein.

So many others…

Precious moments were lost when she had to stop. She fired a _Bombarda!_ and charmed more portkeys into existence.

More faces. More hands. More she ran.

The sounds of the rallied Death Eaters attacking, firing spells, the harsh echo of _Avada Kedavra_ rang down the castle's corridors. The tang of expended dark magic pricked at her skin.

The all-in-this-is-it-last-ditch barricade in front of the doors that led to the Great Hall was well-manned but doomed to fail. For no other reason than the sheer number of re-inforcements that continued to arrive at the castle.

With a look of determination and an unwillingness to stop, the defenders had no choice but to cover her as she sprinted down the corridor.

She broke through the defensive line of Arthur, Charlie, and Bill Weasley, Seamus, Neville, Luna, Susan Bones and Madam Hooch. Charlie made a grab for her arm, to stop her, to protect her – probably for Ron's sake – but she evaded his grasp. Instead she gave each of them a portkey and extracted a promise from them to use it as soon as they could.

Stockpile depleted, she slipped between the massive doors. Judging by the sound of the voice, Susan sealed the door behind her and resumed her part in the last stand against the seige.

She took stock of the new reality.

Chaos reigned the Great Hall. Crying, sobbing, abject horror, and shock hung in the air.

Pomfrey bustled from one patient to another. George, despite Ginny and Molly's attempts to reason with him, refused to leave Fred's body behind. Trelawney was still in a state of denial, babbling disjointedly to anyone who came near her. Aurora Sinistra was doing what she could to soothe a cluster of First Years.

McGonagall had her hands full.

Deciding against a Sonorus, she called out to the defacto headmistress.

"Professor?"

"Miss Granger?"

The woman was clearly surprised to see her.

As unobtrusively as possible, she threaded her way to McGonagall.

"We've got to get everyone out of here! Death Eaters-"

"I know." The woman had clearly grasped the direness of the situation. "They've rallied. They've come back to do what they didn't do the first time." She pursed her lips into a thin line before she admitted her biggest obstacle in evacuating everyone. "The anti-apparition wards are still in place."

Hermione passed her pieces of rock she'd stashed in her trouser's pocket. "It's a portkey. To somewhere safe."

McGonagall quirked an eyebrow.

"But I need help, Professor. I don't have enough for everyone right now. We need to make more."

"Let's see what we can do about this, Miss Granger. Shall we?"

Dumbledore's podium had already been broken, overturned by a cackling Carrow earlier. Even with all those pieces now Portkeys, they were still short.

"We need more, Professor."

McGonagall aimed her wand, and a _Bombarda_, at the Teacher's Table.

A small grin, the first one Hermione had seen in her Head of House's face in a long time, creased the older woman's face. "That felt good."

_The woman's a Gryffindor to her bones._

"That'll do. Don't you think, my dear?"

Hermione didn't respond. She pointed the alien wand at what was left of the table and created additional Portkeys.

"Poppy, Sinistra! On me," McGonagall called out to her fellow professors. Once assembled, she gave her orders. "Get these," she levitated the newly made Portkeys and divvied them between the two women and Hermione, "distributed to everyone. Make sure no one is left behind."

Each nodded and fanned out into the crowd.

Hermione was three steps behind them before she backtracked to make sure McGonagall kept one for herself.

The new Headmistress pocketed the portkey and spared her a tight smile.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger. I'll see you there. Wherever 'there' is." McGonagall shot a worried look at the entry-way, her thoughts clearly with those on the other side of the barricaded door. "Someone has to stay behind to make sure they know we've evacuated."

Hermione spun on her heel. And then spun back when McGonagall called out one more question.

"Tell me… Mister Potter, is he-"

Hermione nodded, giving the older woman the reassurance the older woman needed to hear. "He's safe. I saw to it."

Almost to herself, the Transfiguration professor murmured, "Rightly so."

_Whatever that means. _

Mission at hand, Hermione sprinted across the Hall. She passed out portkeys and muttered brief, _brief_, explanations.

Merlin, she ached. Her arms. Her legs. Her fingers. Her hair. Everything.

There'll be a time to rest later.

_Promise?_ That little voice was back.

_Yes. _

She had no more time for internal dialogue. There was too much to do.

_Need to get the Weasley's out of here._

She knew that Ginny never saw her coming. The younger girl's read-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face was facing her brother. She was pleading with him.

"George – please! – you've got to come away with us!"

Molly Weasley was also trying to get through to her son. "George, listen to me. We've got to-"

"No!" George's head swung left to right. His voice was hoarse with unrestrained emotion. "I'm not leaving him! You can't make me!"

Hermione glanced around. There were definitely less people in the Hall, but there were still too many for her liking.

_One person is too many._

She carefully picked her way around a significantly sized piece of something that might have been, once, a House table. She approached George from his blind side, and crouched down next to Fred's body. Ginny and Molly didn't even know she was there until one of her hands ghosted over the dead twin's face. Careful not to touch it directly, she placed a portkey on Fred's forehead. With barely a glimmer, Fred's body disappeared.

"What have you done?" Shocked, dismayed and emotionally devastated, George's red face tilted down to her upturned face.

Slowly, she rose. She reached for his hand as carefully as she would to gather the reins of a spooked horse. Her other hand subtly signaled to Molly and Ginny to let her handle this.

"He's somewhere safe, George. I sent him to Ron."

She inched closer to him. Three pieces of the podium filled the bowl of her sleeve-covered palm.

She spoke gently and ruthlessly preyed on his connection to his surviving younger brother.

"I need you to go him, okay?" She looked him in the eye and prayed that she'd get through to him. "Ron and Harry are already there, but they need you, too, okay? They aren't going to understand why you aren't with Fred. The longer it takes to join them, the more confused they're going to be." She barely kept the tears from trickling down her face. "You have to help them, George. You're the only one who can. Can you do that?"

Some of what she said registered, some of it didn't. The only thing that mattered was that he nodded, plucked a piece from her palm, and vanished.

Molly rounded on her. "Where are they? Where's Ronald?"

Ginny had her own priorities. "Where's Harry? Is he alright?"

Hermione did her best to assure both mother and daughter. "I told George the truth. Harry and Ron are with the others, in a safe place."

A rash of curses sounded outside the over-sized doors.

She stamped down her fear and frustration as she forced herself to turn her head back towards the two women who still stood next to her. _If only people would do what I tell them to do and not question everything I say!_ She breathed deeply, in an attempt to push her negative thoughts out of her mind. After all, it wasn't their fault that they didn't know about the fall-back location she and Remus had set up in the weeks preceding Bill's wedding.

She pressed her need for them to evacuate on the younger girl.

"Ginny – take your mother and _go_! Your dad and your brothers have the same portkey as the ones in my hand; I made sure of it! But they can't leave until _you_ do." She prayed, for the second time in three minutes, that another Weasley understood just how crucial it was for all of them to escape.

The younger girl blinked, then looked at her mother. Molly thought for a moment – a very precious moment. It was the sound of a woman screeching in pain in the wake of a hollered _Crucio!_ that made up her mind.

"We'll see you there, dear."

Within seconds, Hermione's hand was empty and Molly and Ginny were gone.

_Thank Merlin!_

So caught up with the Weasleys, she missed McGonagall's first two signals that more portkeys were needed.

Hermione fired a _Bombarda!_ at the Ravenclaw table. The massive piece of furniture was annihilated. Bellatrix's wand seemed to revel in the destruction. It took fierce concentration to redirect - constructive from descructive - the wand into charming the largest bits into portkeys.

Collecting the pieces, she trotted to McGonagall's side.

"Here are some more, Professor." She was panting. The exertion to manage the wand, as well as the culmative toll from the past year, took a lot of her, magically and physically. Her reserves were gone.

"Godric be thanked." The older woman glanced about, gauging who had yet to evacuate. With a swish of her wand, all the bits Hermione carried sailed into the hands of the remaining staff and students. "Can't imagine what this would be like if the school was at full capacity!"

Hermione had figured as much. Many muggle-borns and half-bloods never boarded the Hogwarts Express when classes resumed after the hols.

A sharp inhale from the older woman was followed by her lifting a hand to her chest.

"What is it?" Hermione didn't like the look of guilt and alarm that set the lines of the other woman's mouth.

"The Slytherins! They're still locked in their dormitory!"

The cries of hexes and curses was growing closer. Neville's baritone clearly enunciated a rapid-fire _Expelliarmus!_, _Stupify!_, _Incarcerous!_

"How do I get there?"

McGonagall pointed to a side door behind what was once the Teacher's Table. "There's a set of stairs that leads directly down to the dungeons."

Hermione nodded in understanding. She'd seen Snape emerge from that door over the years but had never investigated it firsthand.

_First time for everything_.

"I'll get them. You make sure everyone else gets away."

McGonagall prickled.

Hermione spoke again, more respectfully but just as plainly. "You're needed _here_, Professor. Once everyone is out, you're going to be needed – even more so – _there_." She gave the older woman the same assurance McGonagall gave her moments ago. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll be along shortly."

McGonagall pursed her lips. She still didn't like it. Probably having to do with a student doing a teacher's job. But she wasn't a student. Not this year. Maybe not ever again.

_Get over it, Professor. _

"See that you do, Miss Granger. I don't expect to be put in a position where I'll have to tell Mister Potter that-"

Hermione impulsively gripped fingers fifty years her senior and gave them a squeeze. She really did love that woman.

"I'll see you soon, Professor."

A kindly, grandmotherly, expression bloomed on the other woman's face.

"You do us all proud, Miss Granger."

She let go. Hermione made for the door. She shut it behind her, lit her wand with a _Lumos_, and set to free the Slytherins.

* * *

><p><strong><em>The<em> _Slytherin_ _Common Room_**

Theo Nott, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson were doing their best to keep everyone else calm and collected.

They had been down in their dormitory for hours. The food that the house elves had delivered at the start of their banishment had long been consumed. There was plenty of water, thank Salazar, but anxiety-born hunger was spreading from Slytherin to Slytherin.

"What the hell, Pansy!" Blaise rounded on the dark-haired girl for the fifth time. After all, it was her fault that McGonagall had exiled them in the first place.

"It's not like you took the Mark or anything!" Theo hissed, his own nerves stretched thin.

Without Draco to help corral the younger students, it had fallen on him to keep everyone sane and together. No small feat when locked in rooms with kids aged eleven to eighteen.

"Like I knew McGonagall would send us to our rooms like errant children!" Pansy didn't whine, but her indignation wasn't completely solid either. "I only said what everyone else was thinking."

"That may be truth, but did you have to say it loud enough for everyone to hear?" Daphne Greengrass chimed on the Pansy lynching.

"I know you don't believe in all that shite, Pans." Blaise gave her a penetrating look. After all, they had talked about it, the five of them, Malfoy, Zabini, Greengrass, Parkinson, and Nott, many different times. They all know where each of them fell on the Go-Go-Voldemort spectrum. None of them wanted the Dark Lord to actually win, yet all of them were intricately tied to Voldemort's cause because of their parents and how they were raised.

"Not _entirely_ – you know I don't." Parkinson fought the urge to nibble on her fingernail.

Theo ran a hand though his messy hair. Dark eyes, dark hair, a bad-boy-but-I'm-a-smart-bad-boy persona – there was a reason why he'd kissed more than one girl from every House over the past seven years. "We've got to get out of here."

More than once during the course of the night, tremors from the upper floors radiated down to the bedrooms and Common Room.

"We can't get past the lock." Daphne waved a hand at the only door in and out of the dormitory. She really was a pretty girl, when she wasn't looking down her nose at others. More than once, Draco had told her she reminded him of his mother. "We've tried a hundred times."

Blaise shook his head. He was out of ideas. Even with his considerable height and muscle tone, he knew better than to try to batter down a magically locked door.

"All we can do is wait until someone comes for us."

Pansy smirked. "Yeah – in like, what? A hundred years from now?"

Theo held up his hands, demanding immediate silence from everyone. Separating his senses, the bickering between his friends was pushed into the background. Something else was straining to be heard. If he could just focus on it a bit more…

* * *

><p>Hermione fought against a wave of dizziness.<p>

_One more flight to go…_

_Then what will you do? _That little voice was back.

_I'll deal with that when I get there. I need to get there first_.

She dropped down the remaining steps two-at-a-time until she reached the dungeon floor.

Stairs behind her, she tipped her chin towards the goings-on floors above her.

_With any luck, everyone's away by now. _

_Everyone but you, _that little voice chimed.

_That's because I have a job to do. _

Gaining the primary hallway, she followed it until she found the door.

She gave the handle a hearty tug.

It wouldn't budge.

_Bollocks_! To come all this way just be thwarted by a bloody password!

She blew a breath out over her teeth. She put her hands on her hips and thought out loud. "Maybe they've already gone? Maybe the Slytherins got out and didn't tell anyone? I did pass Malfoy in the Courtyard…"

_Only one way to find out…_

She banged her fists against the door and hollered, praying that her voice would carry past the seal placed on the portal.

* * *

><p>"Do you hear that?" Theo cocked is head, straining to listen.<p>

Something was different, separate from the conversations and murmurs of his House-mates.

"Everyone – quiet!" Turning to Nott, Blaise whispered, "What do you hear?"

"_Hello? Anyone in there?"_

The voice was female. Theo could tell that much. The significantly muted sounds of thumping – presumably hands colliding with the wooden door – followed.

"_Hello?! Can anyone hear me!?"_

Theo, Blaise and Daphne rushed forward. Pansy stayed where she was and signaled for everyone else to stay back.

Daphne, body pressed up against the portal, answered first. "We're in here!"

Blaise's hand connected with Daphne's arm, an attempt to caution someone he considered a friend.

Theo, on the other side of his House-mate, translated Daphne's eye-roll. "If someone was set on hurting us, don't you think they would've just blasted the door instead making an inquiry?"

Normally, Blaise would've had a comeback for Theo's slightly patronizing tone. But these weren't normal times and now wasn't the time to begrudge Nott's slightly superior intellect. "I can still out-duel you."

"Yes, Blaise, of course you can - whatever you have to tell yourself to get through your day." Theo let the hint of defensiveness Zabini directed at him go. It wasn't worth it. Theo considered very few people 'friend', and Blaise measured up to each and every one of his self-imposed standards.

Daphne shut them both up with one hard look apiece: _not now, gentlemen_.

"In here!" Blaise hit the door with his hands. "We're in here!"

Again, the response was muffled but discernable.

"_Okay – I'm going to get you out. Hold on!"_

Theo stepped even closer to the door jamb and spoke into the seam in an effort to make his voice easier to hear for the person on the other side. "What do you want us to do?"

It was a long moment before he got his answer.

"_Get everyone away from the door!"_

* * *

><p>All that shouting left Hermione's throat raw.<p>

At least now she knew her search hadn't been in vane. But now she had the responsibility of upholding her promise.

She stared down at the wand in her hand. Did she have it in her to do two more castings? She'd not only have to blow the door, but create portkeys…

_Think you can do all that?_ That little voice all but scoffed at her.

_I'm going to have to, aren't I._

She stepped closer to the door and ferverently hoped that they'd hear enough of what she was about to say so that she didn't hurt anyone.

* * *

><p>Nott didn't have to tell Blaise to get everyone out of their rooms and the lavatories in order to have everyone crouch down in the far side of the Common Room. His mate was already in motion. For her part, Pansy took to the girls' dorms and lavs. Daphne ushered everyone who was already in the Common Room into positions of safety. She paid special attention to her sister, Astoria, as well as those with wide eyes and trembling chins.<p>

The three and a half minutes it took for Blaise and Pansy to return, herding their wayward Slytherins, felt like three and a half years. It was another minute before everyone had found a place to hunker down.

Theo thumped on the door. "We're ready!"

Several long strides from his long legs put him alongside Daphne. His body between the Greengrasses and any potential debris, he sank down to one knee and braced his hands against the floor. He spared the ones who were scared reassurance. He spared no energy on the Slytherins who scowled and sneered.

"_Bombarda!_"

The portal rattled its cast-iron hinges but didn't give.

"_REDUCTO!"_

The door bowed with the force of that spell. It hung strong and still intact.

Theo was grateful that who ever it was that was trying to get in was so mightily determined.

"_**EXPULSO!**_"

Metal and wood and magic sprayed into the Common Room. Sofas were overturned and the fire in the hearth was nearly snuffed.

Dust clogged the air, causing those around him to cough and sputter. Eyes teared as the fine particles floated freely.

"Everyone alright? Anyone hurt?" Theo polled his House.

No one answered so everyone had to be alright.

He pushed himself to his feet. Blaise matched him step-for-step.

Halfway across the room, they saw the person who freed them.

"Hermione?"

"Theo?"

The girl seemed as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

The last time he had seen Hermione Granger, she'd definitely looked better. At the moment, she was trembling. Fatigue drew on her eyes and limbs. Her hair looked matted and her clothes were bloodied and grimy. The best he could guess was that not all the blood was hers. She was thinner, too. Her skin appeared to be a bit more sallow than he remembered; pain and stress would do that to anyone. But the change to her face and body was significant. She'd always been a pretty girl. Now, she'd grown into a pretty woman.

Daphne and Pansy joined him. Only the barest of tells gave away their surprise at seeing Gryffindor's Princess – a nickname courtesy of Malfoy – as being the one responsible for such flagrant destruction.

She was gulping air and, at the same time, gathering her composure.

She swung a hand and a head at the gaping hole that was once a doorway. "We've got to go. Death Eaters. Upstairs."

"Where do you expect us to go, huh? It's not like any of us have our wands."

Pansy – again. _Cor – couldn't that woman, for once, just not say anything?_

Theo shot Hermione an apologetic look. Pansy received one of his signature glares: _don't do that again._

With obvious effort, Granger's face contorted with concentration. Haltingly, like the slender shaft of vinewood weighed more than she did, she raised her wand and pointed it at the sofa and matching chairs.

"_Portus_."

Her spell came out as a whisper, but it worked. The newly fashioned portkeys glimmered with infused magic.

With that, she slumped to the ground.

He and Blaise rushed forward and crouched down beside her. Blaise shook her shoulder in an effort to rouse her.

It took a moment for her lashes to lift and for her eyes to re-adjust to the meager light provided by the central hearth and wall sconces.

"Get everyone one of here, Theo." She licked her chapped lips. She looked at him and made sure he knew she was talking about the furniture. "They'll take you to Malfoy Manor."

Theo didn't want to know how she knew where Draco lived. Needless to say it was the last place _she_ could go.

"What about you?"

"Portkeys, in my jacket, left pocket." It was clearly a struggle for her to speak, let alone form complete sentences. "Somewhere safe."

Theo didn't see any other choice, especially when a tremor – stronger than any that shook the dungeons during the night – rocked the Common Room.

"Her spell must've caught someone's attention." Blaise tilted his eyes to the ceiling, visualizing who 'someone' might be. Or that the 'someone' wouldn't be alone.

Theo could tell his mate didn't like whatever faces came to his mind.

"Help me up, Theo."

Between he and Blaise, they set Granger on her feet. She tottered precariously. He gripped her arm to steady her.

The grateful look she gave him was short-lived. She glanced at each of the four Slytherins imploringly. "Leave – _now_ – before it's too late."

"We will." Daphne gave enough of a promise to hold all of them to it.

Releasing Granger's arm, Theo tugged his shirtsleeve over his hand and reached into the girl's pocket. He placed a portkey, he hoped it was a portkey because all it looked like to him was a piece of busted battlement, into her protected hand.

The near-distant sounds of shoes clacking against the stone flooring impressed upon him the issue of time and the need to hurry.

He gave her one of his rare, genuine, smiles. "You gotta go, too, you know."

She answered his smile with a resigned one her own. "Not until all of you are away."

Blaise, Daphne and Pansy stepped back. From the sounds of things, they were organizing everyone one last time. "Okay everyone – hands, bums, a foot, anything. Just make sure you're touching some part of either one of the chairs or the sofa."

Theo, having been her Ancient Runes partner since Third Year, had an inkling as to the extent of her stubbornness. He broke eye-contact with the determined Gryffindor. He gave his friends the final go-ahead. "We go on 'three'."

The other three nodded in agreement.

They got into position.

Theo did the countdown.

"One."

"Two."

"Thanks, Granger." Parkinson, for once, said the right thing as it pertained to what everyone else was thinking.

"THREE!"

A rush of Slytherins made for the furniture.

Hermione wobbled as she put herself between them and the shattered door frame. She replanted her feet into a defensive stance, wand at the ready...

That was the last thing Theo saw before he and his entire House materialized in the drawing room of an abandoned Malfoy Manor.

The weight of a jagged piece of rock rested in the bottom of his trouser pocket.

* * *

><p>Hermione wobbled as she replanted her feet into a defensive stance but she didn't fall.<p>

The voices were coming closer. Footfalls were louder and more distinct.

She had no time to think about how glad she was to have seen Theo.

She bared her palm and rolled her Portkey onto bare skin.

Shadows fell across the ruined Slytherin threshold.

A barbed hook viciously snagged her navel.

* * *

><p>The oversized front lawn of her – their – new home materialized underneath her feet.<p>

She pitched sideways as her legs gave out from underneath her. Peripherally, she was aware of the people around her but couldn't see the man next to her.

A pair of strong arms caught her and, awkwardly, but gently, lowered her to the ground.

Her grip on Bellatrix's wand tightened as she peered up at her mystery man.

Calculating light eyes, blond hair back-lit by the overhead sun, a Seeker's body. That was all she was able to take in before her head lolled to the side and blackness swamped her vision.

She did manage to utter one last word, in the form of a question, before the rest of the world fell away.

"Malfoy?"


	3. Chapter 3: Stacking the Deck

Chapter 2:

* * *

><p>"Sorry, luv – right position, wrong House." He blew out a breath over his teeth, but he didn't hold her mistake against her. "Definitely wrong bloke."<p>

Charming did as charming does and Alexander Summerby was utterly charming. His most charming included a lop-sided grin and a cheeky wink. All of which went unnoticed as the girl had yet to come around.

He gave her another cursory once-over.

No broken bones – that he could see.

No profuse bleeding – that he could see.

He grimaced. That left internal injury – injuries – and spell damage. Or both. Neither of which a spot of dittany or a dab of murtlap could help, which was all he'd been issued.

He, along with a handful of the initial escapees, had been volunteered by Madam Pomfrey to spread out through the growing throng of arriving refugees to dole out emergency first aid and bring to her those who needed her immediate medical attentions.

Not far from where he stood, Justin Finch-Fletchley, a fellow 'Puff and his best mate, dribbled something onto the forehead of some sizable sandy-haired chap who was too old to be still in school. Off to his right, Terry Boot was doing his best to hold down a hysterical girl while Lisa Turpin struggled to spread some sort of salve onto the girl's damaged leg.

From his limited vantage point, Summerby watched similar vignettes play out around him. There was no one free to help him with the girl.

Strength and balance he had. One didn't earn the spot of Seeker, much less a Hufflepuff Seeker, without an abundance of those two traits. His apprehension had everything with finding the best way to shuttle her to Madam Pomfrey with the least amount of jarring.

"Looks like it's just you and me, luv." He made himself sound as upbeat as he could even as he steadied his nervous hands on his trousers.

Two gentle motions later, she was draped over his arms. Her head rested between the side of his chest and the ridge of his collarbone. Her right hand maintained a tight grip on her wand.

"You know – once word gets out that you called me 'Malfoy', neither one of us is going to live it down. You know that, right?"

He gave her one of his most captivating smiles.

"Let's see about getting you to someone who can help you more than I can."

* * *

><p><em>Thirty minutes earlier…<em>

Her shoes clacked against the floor in cadence to her swift stride.

The sounds of curses, hexes, grunts and hollers of those sacrificing everything to ensure that as many people as possible escaped Hogwarts escalated.

With effort, she hauled open one of the over-sized doors that Arthur Weasley and his team had been fighting so desperately to defend.

"Weasley – everyone's gone! Get your team in here!"

The middle-aged man nodded. He'd heard her but he couldn't answer at the moment. He dodged an _Incarcerous!_ as Longbottom covered his evasive maneuver. He fired off a _Reducto!_ at a stretch of wall; the resulting spray of debris sent the masked Death Eater sprawling to the ground. He raised his wand again, and spared a precious breath on that could've been spent on a spell, to acknowledge the defacto Headmistress.

"Minerva – get out of here!"

"You first!" She gripped her own wand tighter and took up a protective stance behind Susan Bones.

She wasn't going to budge on this. They had bought her the time she needed. There was no way she was going to leave them behind. As it was, she'd delegated the safety of the Slytherins to Miss Granger. It was up to Merlin and the girl's own considerable skills as to whether or not she'd ever see that young woman ever again. Arthur, his sons, and the embattled students around them – she'd see to it that their lives didn't end within the castle's walls.

She fired a volley of curses to create the precious few seconds it took for them all to palm their unlikely Portkeys.

:

:

It was all McGonagall could do to blink as her new surrounding revealed itself. A stone-paved walkway, at the base of an expansive front lawn rimmed with a low stone wall, gave way to a large brick-faced building. Numerous balconies bracketed French doors and the gently sloping roof was topped with a Widow's Walk. The building itself rose three stories. Attached to the main part of the house, a single-story wing jutted to the east. Tall, broad, stained-glass windows adorned the side that she could see. The whole compound, for lack of a better word, resembled a mid-sized Muggle abbey. She wouldn't be surprised if the south side of the building faced a fully-functional greenhouse and gardens.

One minute she was casting a Jinx inside a dark corridor and the next she was standing in sunlight. Grass, not flagstone, framed the soles of her shoes. A pastoral setting surrounded her, not a spell-damaged castle.

The reality that she was standing where she stood struck her with the impact of a screaming Bludger. The implications over what had to have happened that resulted in her standing where she now stood nearly sent her to her knees.

Hogwarts had fallen.

Hogwarts. Had. Fallen.

_Founders forgive me_… On her watch, under her protection, Hogwarts had fallen. Students, faculty members, and Order members had _died_ while under her protection, on her watch.

She was going to have to live with those…_ failures_… for the rest of her life.

A pair of hands shook her shoulders.

"Minerva!"

She blinked. She hadn't made the adjustment. She was still processing the fact that they had all escaped.

"Minerva!"

Arthur Weasley's red-blotched face was an arms-length away.

She mentally shook herself. Now was not the time to be dwelling on things.

"Yes – you're right." He hadn't asked her a question per se, but his need to know that she was in the here and now was necessary. "Let's get on with it."

He removed his hands and nodded, relieved that she hadn't drifted too far into her thoughts of 'would've, could've, should've'.

She scanned the group around her. Longbottom, Bones, Weasley three times, Lovegood, Hooch and Finnigan. They needed her leadership.

"Arthur – go find your family. I saw Miss Granger talking to your wife and daughter earlier so I know they're here somewhere."

The man agreed, but not without making it clear he felt that he owed it to her to stay by her side. With a heavy stride, he melted into the crowd.

She turned her gaze to her students. "Are any of you injured?"

A few softly spoken comments confirmed that none of them needed immediate medical attention.

"Alright then. House labels don't mean very much anymore, but for now it's the easiest way to organize everyone. Anyone who might be missing will be noticed by their Housemates." She pointed to the far side of the expansive lawn, opposite from Pomfrey's triage area. "Move everyone over there. Find someone to help you if you need to. Anyone who has need of immediate medical attention, bring to Madam Pomfrey. Anyone needing basic aid, call on one of Pomfrey's deputies."

Pomfrey's white smock stood out among all the greenery. By the looks of things, the competent nurse had secured a section of lawn up and to the right of where they stood and had commenced with picking up where she left off before the second assault on the castle forced them to flee. From where she stood, Minerva watched Poppy hand-pick two more individuals to perform triage outside her make-shift hospital area.

Finnigan and Bones were still breathing too heavily to respond to her missive, but Longbottom answered for all of them. "You got it, Professor."

She turned to Madam Hooch. "Go with them. Make sure that they," they both knew she was talking about the younger students and those more emotionally-than-physically damaged, "stay as calm as possible for as long as possible. Also, start to separate them into two group based on age." She pursed her lips. "Spread the word that we'll be convening shortly; there's a lot to do. Among which will be to find a way to match students with their families."

Her use of semantics was clear: there were those loyal, either by choice or duress, to Voldemort's doctrines in every House

"What about us, Professor?" Bill Weasley squinted at her as sweat had trickled into his eye even as his hand reached out and tapped his brother Charlie's arm, indicating that they'd be working together. Charlie's eyes reflexively tracked Hooch.

She gave those two men the job that was of the utmost importance.

"You're to find Miss Granger."

"What's Hermione got to with anything?" Charlie asked.

"That girl's going to have the answers as to where, how, and why we're here." Minerva expelled a breath that was equal parts mild bewilderment and guarded approval at the Granger girl's handiwork. "Wherever 'here' is."

:

:

"Harry! Ron!"

"Ronald! Ronald, where are you?!"

Ginny's priorities hadn't changed.

Her mother operated under a similar, albeit more family-centric, imperative.

Nor were they the only ones looking for those missing. All around them, people called out for friends and family.

"Bill! Charlie! Arthur!" Molly called out, desperate to find her husband and children. "George!"

Ginny twisted her head to the left and right, continually scanning the growing crowd. She didn't hesitate to physically move people out of her line-of-sight.

"I don't see them, Mum!" She could see what an effort it was for her mother not to give into her own growing panic.

"Don't worry, Ginny – we'll find them."

How could her mother be so… Molly-ish! Harry was here, somewhere. He had to be. He was alive. He had just come back, to _her_, and then he was dead. But then he wasn't. And then, Voldemort was dead. Fred was dead. Then, Hermione was there. Death Eaters were laying siege. Then, suddenly, they were here.

She peered into the crowd. There were so many people! Small knots of students stood together. In other places, friends sat on the thick grass and clung to one another. Others drifted alone, much like a wayward snowflake that floated on an errant air current. A few Order members gravitated to one another, proving that even adults were human, too. Some, though, took the time to tend to the wounded.

A tall, dark-haired chap in a battered sweater-vest approached a cluster of Ravenclaws. All she could see was his back, but a sense of relief and familiarity swept over her at the sight of him.

_Could it be?_

He tapped one of the Ravenclaws on the shoulder and pointed to a far corner of the lawn. She was too far away to hear what he told them.

Ginny pulled away from her mother, her feet aimed for the shortest path to Neville Longbottom.

"Ginny – where are you going?" Her mother's voice was behind her. "Ginny?"

She didn't answer. She murmured half-formed apologies to those she bumped into, some didn't get one at all.

"-go over there, alright? Just sit tight, for now, okay?"

Neville's back angled towards her. His directions were acknowledged by some third-year she couldn't name. He never saw her approach.

She put a hand on his arm to get his attention.

"Ginny - you're alright!" Neville smiled tiredly at her. His fingers moved to rest on top of hers.

She returned his smile. His hand didn't smother hers. It was comfortable as much as it heightened her anxiety levels. She knew that he knew that Harry had come back.

"Yeah – Hermione got us out."

"Me, too."

He didn't shake her hand off his arm.

"Nev-"

"Ginny-"

It was awkward for several reasons, among them her mother standing not three feet away.

She tightened her grip on him. She needed to know about her dad and brothers. She knew that they'd stayed behind. "Have you seen-"

Neville looked behind her, made eye contact with her mother, and then looked back at her before he answered. "They made it. All of them." She listened as he shared what the other Weasleys did while everyone else escaped. "You'd be so proud of them. Not once did they let up. Even when Bill took a Stunner to the chest and hit the wall, Charlie stepped up and made Bill's shot for him. Your Da knows the business end of a wand."

Ginny didn't have to say that she knew he lacked neither ability or power. The changes that had come over Neville since the debacle that was their 'adventure' in the Department of Mysteries had initiated a complete transformation that accelerated once Sixth Year started and culminated in him transitioning to the leader of the Hogwarts Rebellion, which led to him playing out his role in that blasted prophesy. The man was a hero as much as he was still quintessentially Neville.

No, that wasn't entirely accurate. It was more like he'd grown into the kind of man that he was supposed to be, rather than the boy his grandmother and the rest of the Hogwarts staff and student body perceived himself to be. The strength and leadership he projected during Harry and Hermione's - and, to a lesser extend, Ron's - absence had changed everyone's perceptions.

The result of which, he wore well.

He lifted an arm and pointed to somewhere behind them. "Madam Pomfrey set up a med-station back there. I'd bet anything that they're there."

Molly, her frayed nerves evident, gave him a truly motherly smile. "Thank you, Neville."

Ginny tried to curb her eagerness but failed. "Have you seen Harry?"

Neville shook his head. And pulled her fingers off his sleeve. His double-meaning plain: _Harry's back, hands off_.

He eased out a breath, clearly not ready to have 'that' conversation. Instead, he gave her an answer she already figured.

"Not yet. But if Hermione-"

"Yeah – I know, I know..." She mentally rolled her eyes when he said that name.

"If you find _her_-"

"-then that's where I'll find Harry."

Neville nodded. And had the good grace not to call her on the tinge of resentment that colored her resignation. As it was, his side of their conversation with her only held a portion of his attention. She could tell he had things he was supposed to do. A good way to find Hermione would be to stay with Neville.

"Want me to stick around?"

Neville gave her a measured look that lasted a moment too long. If he suspected that she was using him, he didn't let it show.

It was Molly who decided for them. "Ginny, dear, go help him. When I find everyone, it'll be easier for us to find you."

Ginny didn't know what to make of it. She really needed to see Harry, needed to know if he was alright. But, the likelihood of being regulated to the sidelines would be too much, and too little, for her right now. She hadn't seen Harry in nearly a year, and in the past twenty hours all they'd exchanged was a couple of longing looks, two simple verbal exchanges, and a brief kiss that she initiated. A kiss that Harry had barely returned. And, honestly, for as much as she wanted to use Neville, she couldn't. What they'd done together over the past school year, which included the subterfuges necessary to circumvent Headmaster Snape, the reign of terror that was the Carrows, and the gross abuse of power by the re-instated Inquisitorial Squad - thank Merlin Malfoy and a number of more nasty Slytherins had been out of school more than they'd had been in school - had made Neville practically Harry-like in her eyes.

"Alright, Mum." She stuffed her hands into her pockets. The angle of the sun made her squint. "I'll be with Neville when you need me."

"McGonagall gave a bunch of us instructions to sort everyone out. We'll be over there, Mrs. Weasley," Neville indicated an area of lawn where a cluster of Gryffindors stood, "when you're ready for Ginny."

"Alright then, dears. I'll leave you to it."

"Love you, Mum." Ginny returned her mother's hug, kissed her cheek, and pulled away. She didn't watch her mother walk away.

She peered up at Neville, trying to gauge where he was at emotionally. "Alright?"

"Maybe? Sorta? Dunno, really." He glanced about, taking in the fact that he was upright, mobile, and better off than eighty percent of the people around him. "I can't really complain, can I?" He gave her as much assurance as he possessed at the moment. "Ask me again in five minutes and I might answer differently."

"Fair enough." She re-tucked her hands into her pockets and fell in step with him. Today's events hadn't caught up with her, either.

As it was, she didn't trust herself to say anything more that had to do with her feeling or thoughts about two dark-haired man-boys who were so very similar and yet, so very different.

:

:

_An hour and a half after the Fall of Hogwarts…_

"Professor!"

McGonagall turned from her conversation with Anthony Goldstein at the hail.

"Mister Weasley-"

"Charlie." His good-natured smile was well-intended and welcomed. "There are too many of us Weasley men for you to call all of us that."

She had to agree with that assessment and appreciated his invitation for one-sided informality. "Is there something you needed to tell me?"

"I've found her. Pomfrey's got her. All _three_ of them."

:

:

"Madam Pomfrey!"

The harried mediwitch looked up at the woman calling out her name.

It was good to see Minerva. Poppy was relying entirely on her training and experience in order to handle this phase of the current crisis. She hadn't even started to process everything that had happened over the past twenty-two hours.

"Poppy – you found them?"

She gestured to the red-headed fellow sitting on the grass on the outside edge of her triage area. "I've got them separated from everyone else."

Pomfrey beckoned her friend to follow her. She waited until Minerva strode along side her before she gave her report. Not too far away, the surviving Weasley family reunited.

"Mister Weasley – Ronald, that is – found me as soon as I arrived. He had Mr. Potter in tow."

Minerva looked surprised. She wasn't expected to hear that.

"Mister Potter is, well…" Pomfrey struggled to find the best words to use to describe her current assessment of Harry Potter's state. "Well, you'll see."

"Is he hurt?" Minerva was truly concerned.

"In a manner of speaking." Poppy placed a reassuring hand on her friend's arm, conveying the fact that there were some wounds which potions and bandages couldn't treat. "There's nothing more I can do for him at the moment. Dittany took care of the external damage. As well as the superficial damage Mr. Weasley sustained. As of right now, there are others with more pressing injuries right now that need my attention."

The blood and smears on her smock proved just how 'talented' Death Eaters, Greyback's minions, and Scabior's henchmen were at hurting, maiming, and, yes, killing.

"And what of-"

Poppy's face fell when she realized who Minerva was referring to. "Miss Granger's status is another story."

Minerva's breath hitched.

Pomfrey led McGonagall through the rows of those who were under her care. Some were lying down, others sat with their arms draped over their knees. A few didn't, or couldn't, hold back their tears. Yet others simply sat, emotionally disconnected from everything around them.

True to her word, on the other side of one of the low stone walls that bordered the triage area, Ronald Weasley's drawn face lifted at their arrival. On either side of him were Harry and Hermione.

"They won't wake up, Professor." Worry and a hint of accusation tinged his outburst. He waved a grimy hand at his best friend. "Harry did what he was supposed to do, and now look at him."

His anger grew; a good portion of it was directed at the prone girl.

"And Hermione… I told her not to go, tried to get her to leave with us. But no. She didn't. Said she '_couldn't'_. She _insisted_ that she had to get to you, to tell you. And yet, you arrived well before she did." He all but pointed his finger at her. "What did you do to her?"

Minerva swallowed her answer. No matter what she said, Weasley was too keyed up and guilt-ridden to listen to her side of Miss Granger's decision. Instead, she visually appraised the other two members of 'The Trio'.

Harry sat with his arms draped over his crooked knees. To her eyes, the lad was close to being completely catatonic. It was only his deliberate fixation on Miss Granger that gave her any inkling that Potter was somewhat aware of what was happening around him.

Hermione had been laid carefully on the ground, her hands resting at her side, a wand in her clenched fist, her skin deathly pale. It didn't even look like she was breathing.

She hated the question that she had to ask.

"Poppy – can we rouse her?"

Ron looked from one woman to the other. His trust in them was frayed, but neither one of them wanted to break it. The Granger girl was the only one who had the answers they needed.

"I don't know," Pomfrey hawed. She wasn't a hand-wringer by nature. That didn't mean that she didn't have other ways to convey her unease. She confessed why she didn't have a diagnosis, let alone a prognosis, for the girl. "I don't even know what's wrong with her." She looked to her friend and shared the two things that she did know. "The only thing I can ascertain is that it's something Dark and it's… debilitating."

Minerva pursed her lips. She was foremost a teacher, administrator, and a protector. Right now the needs of everyone weighed against the need of this one girl. A girl who'd probably insist on doing what had be done _because_ it had to be done.

Poppy made the questionably ethical decision.

The medi-witch pulled out her wand and pointed at the girl. "_Rennervate_."

A burst of magic stuck Miss Granger's chest. Her body bucked, her limbs clenched and released. But she stayed unconscious.

"What are you doing! Leave her be!"

Pomfrey ignored Mister Weasley. She pressed her lips into a thin line and channeled a bit more force into her next casting. "_Rennervate_!"

A low moan weakly sounded seconds after the spell struck. The girl's head lolled to the side and her lashes fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes.

Immediately, McGonagall crouched next to her. Mister Weasley shifted to his knees, and propped her against his chest. Mister Potter's previously glassy, unseeing eyes swiveled to her as he heard her begin to awaken. The young man shuffled over to where the youngest Weasley male previously sat, siezing the opportunity to move closer the dark-haired girl.

McGonagall wasn't sure if Poppy had done more harm than good to the girl, but the way Potter responded to Miss Granger was encouraging. She'd file that information away for later.

"Miss Granger – can you hear me?" Minerva placed her hand lightly on the girl's shoulder.

The girl's nod was nearly imperceptible.

"Hermione? You're awake? Thank Merlin!" Ron awkwardly stroked her hair away from her ears.

"Miss Granger, you need to tell me where we are and what you've done."

The girl's mouth opened, her lips moved, but it was several seconds before the air flowing over her teeth formed sound.

"… no magic. Important. No magic except in the chapel. Chapel is protected. Too hard to insulate everywhere." Her face scrunched with that could only be the memory of that compromise.

She moistened her lips, her concentration evident.

"Lupin… went to Lupin. My idea… Needed somewhere safe that wasn't Grimmauld. Been here before, long time ago." She made to wave her wand hand to emphasize the fact that she'd visited, where ever they were, sometime during her Muggle-life. "Never think to find us here."

McGonagall clasped the girl's free hand. She had some answers. She needed more.

"What about the Slytherins?"

Mister Weasley's head snapped in her direction. He didn't like her question in the slightest. "What did you make her do?!"

Minerva slid her gaze at him without turning her head away from Miss Granger. "The Slytherins were locked in their dormitories. She insisted on liberating them."

"Course she would."

She had more urgent matters that took precedence over piecing together why Mister Weasley muttered such a response in such a resigned, practically resentful, manner. As it was, Miss Granger was fading fast. The girl couldn't even flex her fingers any more.

"Miss Granger – please. The Slytherins!" Minerva implored. "Where are they?"

"Malfoy Manor." Her words were slurred but distinguishable. "Sent them to Malfoy Manor. Someone's gonna have to go to them, see who wants to do what. Check on Theo…"

"It'll be done." She didn't know which 'Theo' Miss Granger had referred to, but she'd make sure he was approached personally. It was the least she could do. "Were any of them hurt?"

"Ev'ones okay. Stranded, though. Alls them, stranded w'thout wands."

Minerva looked up at Poppy as to why Miss Granger couldn't form whole words or complete thoughts.

"I don't know what's wrong with her. The amount of energy I put into that _Rennervate_ should've had her swimming the Channel."

McGonagall gave the girl's hand a squeeze in an effort to re-stimulate the young woman's attention.

It was a considerable effort to hear Miss Granger's next words.

"Inside… in the library… Memory Orbs…s'plains evy'thing."

Every muscle in Miss Granger's body suddenly slackened.

Poppy was by her side in an instant, her fingers to the girl's neck. Mr. Potter's hand, for the first time, moved to grasp the hand closest to him, as if he could keep her with them. Mr. Weasley tightened the hold his arms had around her upper body.

"She's alive. Her pulse is weak, but it's there." Mister Weasley's eyes grew round and moist as the four of them, Mister Potter included, waited for the Mediwitch's verdict. "But I don't dare rouse her again."

McGonagall released the girl's hand and stood. At Poppy's insistance, Mr Weasley released the girl and placed her in her previous position. There was no hope of prying Mr. Potter's grip from the hand he held.

She didn't have time to feel bad about what Poppy, by extension, herself, had done to the poor girl. What Miss Granger did do was give her a place to start. That was more than she had five minutes ago. That was more than she had when she closed her fingers around that Portkey in the battle-choked hallway.

She looked beyond where she stood, at the students, Order members, staff and faculty. The dead, too.

She spoke to them all as much as she did to the four conscious people grouped around her.

"Let's see what Miss Granger has been up to, shall we?" Something akin to mischief-making settled around her shoulders. "Then we'll see about a field trip to Malfoy Manor." Her wry sense of humor surfaced. "From what I've been told, summer in Wiltshire is something that should be seen first-hand."

* * *

><p>A bit of tweaking, cleaning up the chapter...<p>

Please! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3:

* * *

><p><em>Several Hours Later, At Sundown…<em>

For the second time in twice as many hours, Minerva found herself unable to do anything but react to what was happening around her.

House elves. Truly. House elves. Specifically Hogwarts house elves.

The first cadre of elves appeared as soon her hand twisted the door knob of the front door of The Retreat. No sooner had she crossed the threshold was when seven elves, each sporting tea-towels embroidered with the Hogwarts insignia, appeared in the foyer.

Jumpy, contrary to his name, was calm, cool and collected when he informed her that Hogwarts elves were loyal to Hogwarts, and because The Retreat was a Hogwarts-away-from-Hogwarts, that Hogwarts elves were also bound to The Retreat, and by extension, loyal to the students and teachers taking refuge therein. The elf also informed her that, 'if there being anything MissyMcGee be needing, Jumpy will sees it get done'.

Shaking her head over the fact that she'd never get used to the fact that house elves seem to be incapable of proper speech, she dutifully followed Jumpy. He escorted Minerva and those she'd come to consider her primary lieutenants – Longbottom, Charlie and Bill Weasley, Finch-Fletchly, Ponoma and Rolanda – into the Chapel.

The Chapel was longer than it was wide, but it was still quite sizable. Simple shelves held simple, utilitarian, sheets and blankets. Closely situated simple wood-framed beds stood in a row underneath the stain-glass windows. Contents housed in tall, double-faced, lockers scattered throughout the room were labeled accordingly. Privacy screens, folded to conserve space, were stacked together in between the lockers.

It was the group of well-padded shelves mounted to the left of a large, well-used, desk that held the most important items in the room.

The Orbs that Miss Granger had struggled to identify not ten minutes earlier provided a lot of the information that the injured girl – young woman – couldn't relay.

The Memory Orbs the Granger girl left for them were Merlin-sent. Contained within the glass balls were instructions on how to dismantle the wards that sealed the interior doors and windows of The Retreat, why it was so important that if any magic at all had – HAD – to be performed, it could only be performed in The Chapel, where the rudimentary supplies were, the layout of the building, the outlying greenhouses, the importance of revitalizing the gardens, location of the three different wells that provided water to the property, in which direction the apple, pear, and peach orchards could be found, as well as a 'delivery system' that she, Remus Lupin, and others, had devised.

Delivery system – what a phrase! The logistical nightmare of separating potential security threats – sweet Morgana, she now had to equally associate those she was responsible for in the same train of thought that it would only take a careless, or deliberate, slip-of-the-tongue by one of her charges to transplant the Battle of Hogwarts to The Retreat – as well as those who decided to stay neutral, or just too young, in the struggle against the remaining Death Eaters.

Each Orb was carefully labeled. Not only was there a title for each Orb, but there was a sequence! The girl's 'talent' for creating revision schedules had evidently applied to the creation of the Orbs. Not to mention the instructions affixed to the Orb labeled: _Watch Me First_.

Tap of her wand to the surface of the Orb caused the swirl of fog-like atmosphere contained within the glass to solidify into the shape of a seated Miss Granger.

A moment later, the girl's – young woman's – voice filled the quiet that had settled between them all, witch, wizard and elf alike.

"Hello Professor…"

Systematically, they progressed through the first five Orbs. Granger told of the evolution of The Retreat. Its inception stemmed from a 'what-if-worse-case-scenario-what-would-we-do' conversation between various Order members during her fifth-year Christmas hols. Miss Granger didn't name names, but it wouldn't too hard to guess who sat around that table that night.

In the past, The Retreat had been an abbey. In time, the nuns opened an orphanage for both boys and girls. Nearly a decade ago, it had been bought by a private individual and turned into an over-night camp for children, aged six-to-sixteen, for the academically gifted. Four years ago, the camp closed due to lack of enrollment. It was decided by this group of Order members that a minor Confundus applied to the owners would ensure that the building wouldn't be sold, guaranteed that the lights would stay 'on', and deter the owners from visiting the property.

As it had been most recently a sleep-away camp, it was already outfitted to house, and support, refugees of any age. Miss Granger explained that she herself attended the camp for two weeks as a young girl the summer before she started Hogwarts. It was the supposition that the place was so muggle that no wizard – or witch – would think of looking for them there.

Gender-specific dormitories were on the upper floors. Single-person rooms existed on the second and third floors, but those rooms were few and far between. Privacy would be something those who stayed at The Retreat would sacrifice. Lack of magical discharge ensured that electricity, supplemented by the roof-mounted solar panels, would provide light, hot water, and run the appliances in the over-sized kitchen. Stockpiled dry goods could be found in the various pantries. The basement, which ran the full-length of the main building, was also available for use. An itemized list of the more useful medical and potion-specific plants, annuals and perennials alike, met with Pomona's non-verbal approval. She went on to say that any plants that Hogwarts had that they deemed they needed that weren't already growing at The Retreat could be collected surreptitiously by the elves and then transplanted. She emphasized, again, the importance of 'no magic except in The Chapel', and because of that, The Chapel had been designated as the infirmary. She and Lupin had deduced that if there was only one place they could insulate from magical detection, it would have to be the infirmary as magic could, and would very likely, be necessary to save lives.

She expounded on what Jumpy had initially shared. Hogwarts elves would take the younger students, and those deemed 'security threats', to the front lobby of Gringotts. A variation of the Fidelius Charm encapsulated the property. Anyone asked to 'picture' The Retreat would not be able to create an image of any room, or area of the grounds, in their minds well enough to have The Retreat compromised either by Apparition or Legilimency. Because of this variation, there was no Secret Keeper that could be forced to disclose the location of The Retreat. Anyone could leave The Retreat, but the only way to return to The Retreat was by the activation of a pre-created Portkey, one that was engineered for one-way transport. It would be up to those in charge of The Retreat as to who, and how, those Portkeys would be utilized and issued.

Orb-Granger explained that Professor Binn's lectures on the Goblin Wars and Bill's position as a Gringott's Curse Breaker was the inspiration for that particular destination. Gringotts was easily accessible to magical and muggle parents and guardians, readily identifiable, and for those who wished to avoid any Ministry involvement, the Goblin bank was the muggle equivalent of an embassy: the land on which the bank stood was sovereign territory of the Goblin nation.

"Nor would Gringott's bar anyone from arriving at the bank, as they'd in all likelihood be account holders or related to an account holder. If anyone from the Ministry even tried to create a fuss, the goblins would simply have to say that customers are always welcomed at Gringott's!" Bill whispered loud enough for everyone to hear what he said without drowning out Miss Granger's continuing exposition. He was suitably impressed with the young witch's choices and proud to have played a part, albeit unknowingly, in crafting such a seamless plan. "A chance to snub the Ministry, flip a two-fingered salute to Voldemort's supporters, and still appear 'neutral'? I can hear old Willtear agreeing to this!"

Minerva preened when she heard that. Her Gryffindor was truly, and utterly, clever! She barely nodded in agreement when Poppy whispered that she was going to start transferring the wounded into The Chapel.

With the immediate needs addressed, Minerva issued new orders to her lieutenants.

The afternoon was busy for everyone…

… Hogwarts elves had systematically transported small groups, adults and students alike, out of The Retreat. No one would be forced to stay. Those who did stay were carefully vetted before being issued a bed. Muggle-borns were given priority. The ghastly, reprehensible, Muggleborn Registration Act was still in full effect. There would be no room in the coming weeks, or months, however long it took, for them to second guess anyone's loyalty.

… A group led by Finch-Fletchley and Lisa Turpin, equipped with the know-how to create necessary Portkeys, had been dispatched to Malfoy Manor to see about the Slytherins.

… Ginny Weasley, along with Susan Bones and Luna Lovegood, under the watchful eyes of Rolanda Hooch, organized the clean-up and organization of the living areas.

… The two oldest Weasley boys, Summerby, and Filius, under the careful instruction of Poppy, worked throughout the afternoon to move the wounded into The Chapel.

… The smell of food wafted from where Molly Weasley and her team worked in the kitchen.

… In the Library, five Slytherins sat, each awaiting the scrutiny that she, Longbottom, and Arthur Weasley would come to bear on them.

She was in no rush to do so. Blaise Zabini, Tracey Davis, and the three others could wait to list the reason – reasons – why they decided to 'join up', to use Longbottom's choice of vernacular.

It was with a heavy heart that she sat in a straight-backed chair at Miss Granger's bedside.

For all that had been accomplished, nothing Poppy had done to treat the girl had changed, let alone improved, her condition. At best, the mediwitch had been able provide her patient with basic hydration and necessary nutrients, facilitated by Muggle means, that had been prudently stored in one of the many double-faced lockers. The rolls of gauze, antibiotic crèmes, and other 'first-aid' supplies, along with slightly more invasive treatments, such as the intravenous and blood-transfusion kits, enabled Poppy to treat many without over-taxing her magic.

The only encouraging thing that had happened during the course of such a dreadfully busy afternoon was that Mr. Potter had reached for the girl's hand, albeit unconsciously, when he was led to the bed next to hers. The youngest Weasley boy – could he really be considered a boy, after all that had happened and experienced? – filled a chair on the other side of Potter, his eyes fixated on his inward thoughts.

A subtle movement broke her concentration.

It came from the Granger girl. Her grip on Potter's hand slackened. She watched as Potter, in his nearly catatonic state, registered the change and, in turn, tightened his hold on her, as if he could keep Hermione Granger with them by contact alone.

For all she knew, he was. Her Scottish common sense couldn't help but sniff at that thought. The lad needed to help himself before he could help Miss Granger.

If only there was a way to see what they were seeing; for Granger to tell them what was wrong with her so that they could help her…

* * *

><p><em>The French coast, nearly twenty four hours after the fall of Hogwarts…<em>

Dune grass swayed with each gust. The wind lifted sand into the air and scraped his skin. Airborne salt, drawn from the crashing surf, pulled moisture from his lips, cheeks, and eyes.

Behind him, the sun had started to rise. Fine-grained sand and narry a rock in sight, the desolate beach separated Saint-Etienne-au-Mont from the unpredictably turbulent North Sea. A childish thought, that if he could just look hard enough, long enough, he'd be able to see the British coast on the opposite side of the channel. The sky over the choppy water was reluctant to release the night. The temperature around him dipped a few more degrees; he could feel the pinch of cold on the tips of his ears.

Five Apparitions in less than twenty-four hours. The sheer vastness of the distances and frequency drew on his magical core. The first four destinations were revealed by an image forced from his mind by his father. The fifth apparition was completed with a destination firmly pictured in his mind and his mother on his arm. How he managed a side-along after already expending so much magic he chalked up to his considerable heritage and a true desire to put as much distance between him and his mother and the man directly – and indirectly – responsible for crimes committed against his family. Father didn't deserve to know where they re-materialized. Lucius Malfoy no longer had a place in either of their lives.

For now, she – his mother – was safe. The chateau would protect her from the elements. The house-elves would see to her needs and provide some measure of relief from loneliness. The galleons – francs, now - piled in the safe in the tastefully decorated drawing room would replenish her wardrobe and cover the costs for any and all expenses she would incur between now and when he could return her name, her place in society, and her familial connections to her. The false name on the purchase agreement guaranteed her anonymity. The remote location assured privacy. The goblin's visit the night before finalized Draco's ascension to Head of House of Malfoy. All holdings, monetary, titular, and real estate, were, in the eyes of the goblins, Ministry, and by the magic invoked between the three of them, now his responsibility.

The morning chill deepened. He burrowed his chin deeper into the upturned collar of his recently purchased Muggle-crafted coat. Twenty-four hours was hardly enough time to say goodbye to an old life.

He just wasn't ready to leave his mother's new sanctuary. Not just yet.

The sun had yet to crack the horizon.

"This is all my fault."

He didn't turn to face her. He'd been aware of her approach for several moments but had chosen to keep his eyes fixated on the spot where the ocean met the sky.

"No. Not entirely." She wasn't entirely responsible. To let her take all the blame would mean absolving his own lack of independent thought and Lucius' shortcomings. "You certainly contributed. Father's choices and your," he sought a suitable, neutral, word, "_acquiescence_ to his… _lifestyle_… choices certainly influenced… me and my, eventual, choices."

"Your having to leave is my fault."

He couldn't argue with that. The way she called to him, on the cusp of the Dark Lord's perceived 'victory', meant that he couldn't stay. He could, though, remind her that hope wasn't entirely lost – to either of them. The act of a man, trapped between two masters, had given him a chance to redeem the both of them.

"Your Vow with Severus, to make him promise to protect me by every means possible…"

Narcissa's self-professed act of desperation carried a lot of ramifications. Several of which she never realized. There were some he'd never tell her. This one, though, was one she had to know.

"Severus knew that I'd need protection from my past."

His mother loved him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. She felt like she'd failed him, as a mother, as a guardian. She had.

He couldn't dwell on the fact that he did blame her, in part, for how and what he'd been raised to believe, say, do, and fleshed-out the role he'd been reared to fulfill. He acknowledged her Slytherin-ness by not stopping her from trying to list reasons he'd already planned countermeasures against, for staying with her.

"They won't believe you."

He couldn't feed that hint of hope in her voice that she'd be able to talk him out of leaving.

"Yes, they will."

The vials of memories in his breast pocket will compel them to accepting him.

"They won't trust you."

"Not at first. And never entirely, Mother."

"You won't trust them."

_Too right_. He snorted, rather indelicately. He shuffled his feet against the sand and shot her a wry grin. "No, I won't."

"They'll betray you."

There was truth in that, no doubt there.

"Probably."

"Someone will try to kill you."

He should've fought the impulse to snicker, but he didn't.

"Many people, Mother, are going to try to do that," he drawled. He heard an edge of resignation and, surprisingly, an undertone of bravado, 'come on, I dare you' belied a level of bravery he'd only experienced on the Quidditch pitch.

"How will you find them?"

He tilted his face out of the wind. The weight in his coat pocket rested against his hip. "Fate has already seen that, Mother."

The reality of what his life was going to now be like settled between them.

The sky lightened. Pink tones gave way to pale blue. An hour later, cloud cover blocked the sun. An hour after that, a light mist started to fall.

"When it's over, I'll send for you."

"I know you will, Draco."

Her inhale was his signal to leave. He'd already waited longer than he thought he should.

Her hand on his arm detained him for another moment.

"I love you, Mother."

With that, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and palmed Granger's Portkey.

* * *

><p>Again - no so much as a 'new' chapter, but lots of new information about The Retreat.<p>

Thoughts? Anyone? Please?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4:

* * *

><p><em>Two hours later…<em>

Word spread throughout the Retreat of the latest unexpected arrival.

"Did you hear?"

Ginny sat on the main staircase. Her few minutes of solitude ended when Susan Bones plopped herself down next to her.

"Hear, 'what', exactly?" There were a lot of rumors floating about, and she didn't want to inadvertently confirm any of them.

"Malfoy – he's _here_!"

That, she did know. "Yeah – my dad, McGonagall, and Neville are with him now. Have been most of the day."

Susan deflated a bit. She wasn't a gossiper by nature, but Malfoy – of all people – was here, and that was big news.

"What I want to know is 'how' he got here," Susan wondered.

Ginny knew that answer. "Hermione must've made it happen."

It was the 'why'd she do it' that kept spinning in Ginny's mind.

Susan's face was easy to read: how?, why?

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Dunno. She'll have to tell us when she wakes up."

Susan frowned. "She's still out of it, I take it."

Ginny nodded, her own sadness and worry easy to pick up on. "Harry, too."

"Those two – always together. In sickness and in health."

Susan's innocent invocation wasn't lost to her. She pretended it was. She struggled to hoist the 'we're just friends' banner those two always carried. "They've always looked out for each other."

"How's Ron doing?"

_Nice way to change the subject without really changing the subject, Susan_.

"He hasn't left their side. Dad's tried. So's Mum." She cocked her head in Ron's general direction, seated between two cots in The Chapel. "Left long enough to shower and come with us last night. Came back, scarfed down some food, and he was back at it. Stubborn, that one is."

"Missed you at bed-check last night," Susan said softly.

It didn't take a Potions Master to suss out why Susan's smile failed. Who knows what to say when a family has to sneak away to bury a loved one?

"The Prewitt family mausoleum seemed the safest place, all things considered."

Susan wrapped her arms around her bent knees and returned to their earlier subject. "What do you think'll happen to Malfoy?"

"Dunno. But last time I saw him, he looked mighty smug."

"Doesn't he always?" Susan snarked. "Can't wait to see him struggle with the 'no magic except in The Chapel' rule."

"Fecking blighter, that one is," Ginny all but snarled. The thought of Malfoy living magic-free was almost enough to make up for the fact that she had to force herself to guard her responses to Neville's side-long glances. "He's a loathsome excuse for a wizard."

Susan grunted in agreement. Ginny didn't race to fill the lull in their conversation.

"Well, at least he won't be the only Slytherin here." Susan glanced through the open door, eying a tall, dark-haired chap who'd propped his back against the inside face of the stone wall that bordered the lawn.

"True."

The expedition to Malfoy Manor resulted with a handful of Slytherins, among them Blaise Zabini and Tracy Davis, added to the Order's roster.

"Wonder if Malfoy has seen them yet."

"As far as I know, Malfoy hasn't had a chance to see much of anyone. Most likely, he's gonna be 'sequestered'. Up until now, I don't think he's had much of a chance to do anything." Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Expect that they know he's here, though."

"Don't see how they couldn't."

As predicted, Susan didn't say anything one way or another. So, she changed the subject, again, without really changing the subject.

"Any idea what's wrong with them?"

"Harry and Hermione?" She mentally pictured the two cots, side by side, in The Chapel. She couldn't put into words how she felt as she looked at Harry, his now not-so-vacant gaze fixated on the unconscious girl. Instead, Ginny relayed what she overheard Pomfrey tell McGonagall at breakfast. "Harry's just in shock. There was a lot of Dark magic flung at him. His magical output drained him considerably. His mind and body need a chance to recover. As for Hermione…" She broke eye contact with Susan and looked down the long hallway. "They still don't know. But she's alive, so far. That's something."

:

:

The astral version of King's Cross was the same as last time. A bit ethereal, but still every bit as real as the metaphor it represented.

"Nice metaphor, don't you think?"

_Hermione_!

Harry picked up his pace as he made his way to her. He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Her grip on his ribs, her chin against his chest and her stomach pressed flush to his, was most welcomed.

He loosened his hold enough so that he could look down at her. She pulled away enough so that she could look up at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Honestly, Harry? I don't know."

They both knew they were lying.

With ease, they separated but didn't let go of each other's hand. Together, they made their way to a bench and sat down.

Around them, people commuted to work, met loved ones, sipped coffee, went about their lives. Some boarded out-bound trains, others boarded in-bound trains, some wandered to the exits. The only thing everyone had in common was that they each had a destination.

Hermione nudged him, a wry smile firmly in place. "Have I said 'nice metaphor', yet?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, but I'd go ahead and say it a third time if I were you."

His smile didn't last long.

There was a reason why they both were here.

"Are you here for me or am I here for you, Harry?"

Always the curious one, his Hermione.

He thought about her question, nonetheless. He searched his thoughts, his feelings.

It felt different, being here with her, than it did last time when he was here with Dumbledore.

It was a moment before he figured out 'what' was different.

"I reckon I'm here for you."

"Oh." She didn't seem surprised. Rather, more introspective than anything else.

They were both quiet for a moment.

He gave her hand a squeeze and then drew their intertwined fingers to his chest. His heart was cradled in his eyes, which were fixed on hers.

"Are you going to stay or go?"

Glassiness polished her eyes. She looked down at their hands, at his heart, another metaphor for her own heart, like she was debating what to tell him.

"I don't know, Harry. Something is, inside me, definitely wrong. I can feel it." Trepidation pulled at the corners of her mouth and caused her chin to tremble oh-so-slightly. "I'm not sure if I'm going to be given a choice."

He nodded. He understood the crossroads at which she stood. He willed her to _know_ that he understood.

"If you're _here_, Hermione," his free hand gestured at the train station, "then there's an option. That much, I do know."

He watched as she processed that.

"What about you, Harry?"

He thought about it for a moment and realized that he already had her answer.

"Going back." Hopefulness brightened the edges of his face. "Definitely going back. With everything that's happened, I can't imagine anything could be worse than what we've lived through already." He leaned towards her a bit, so that he could whisper into her ear. "Besides – can't be in two places at once."

Her puzzled expression was charming. He grinned. It wasn't often he stumped Hermione Granger.

Then, he sobered and focused his attention on her intently.

"If I'm _there_," his euphemism for 'the other side', "then I can't be _here_," meaning a mortal life, "with you… And everyone else."

He let go of her hand. He eased up on the intensity of his emotions. He'd told her the truth. And, because he truly understood as he had done this himself once already, he knew this was a decision he had no right to influence beyond what he'd already done.

"Thanks, Harry."

He could tell she meant it, on various different emotional and intellectual levels.

"Love you, Hermione."

"Love you too, Harry."

Neither one of them felt the need to speak. Trains docked and left on predetermined schedules. The flow of people ebbed only to surge once more. More coffee cups got tipped into bins and still they sat, hands matched. Time didn't matter, but it passed.

Until it was time to go. For him, anyway.

Her chin tilted up as he pushed himself to his feet, her gaze fixed on his face. "Are we going to remember this?"

"I don't think so, Hermione." He gave her what reassurance he could, that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing not to remember what happened 'here'. "Can't tell you why, but that's the impression I have. I think that you'll only remember that you've been here if you happen to be here again."

He stood and walked away. His hand was snagged by hers within a couple of steps. He turned to look at her, where their fingers joined, then at her face.

"Are you going to be okay, Harry?"

Her concern was evident. It shook him, really. He was supposed to be here for her, and here she was, taking care of him. It was a real consideration for him that, depending on what he told her, it would influence her decision to 'go' or 'come back'.

Which was why it was a moment before he answered her. He wanted to make sure he told her the truth, as far as he knew it.

"Yeah – I think I am."

Her frown told him she didn't quite believe him.

"Not right away, maybe. And maybe never completely, Hermione. But yeah – I'll be 'okay', whatever that definition holds for me."

She nodded. She understood.

He needed to get going. He'd done what he'd been sent here to do: to do for her what Dumbledore had done for him.

He made it to the 'in-bound' platform with only a handful of looks over his shoulder.

She had retaken her seat on that bench, her focus redirected to the choices in front of her.

The open door to the train closed once he crossed the threshold. He swayed slightly as the train eased away from the platform.

He considered it a 'good thing' that she was still there when his compartment vanished into the tube.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Three days after the Fall of Hogwarts…<em>**

_They_ didn't like it.

_They_ being the Powers That Be within the Order.

No one did.

Everyone he passed over the past three days either glared at him or quickly averted their gaze, lest he infect them with his Malfoy-ness.

Not that he was allowed to walk around 'unescorted'. 'For his own protection', was the justification McGonagall used when _they_ unanimously decided to keep him leashed and tethered.

Weasley the Prolific Procreator, Longbottom the Lesser, and Miserable McGonagall were the only ones who knew why he was there. Even then, they only knew the bare minimum. At the end of that initial marathon conference, one that took hours to conclude when he materialized on the front lawn of The Retreat, even they had to concede that his intentions could, and would, only benefit the Order.

The tall, lithe chap walking along side him, some 'Puff he couldn't remember the name of, was his escort _du_ _jour_.

"Oi! Malfoy! Hold up!"

Both of them turned in the direction of the hail. They paused as the person trotted up to them.

"Cor, Justin – isn't that ever going to get old?" The gripe was steeped in good-natured resignation.

_Fecking 'Puffs. _

Draco mentally grumbled. It'd been happening for days. Disconcerting was an understatement when one is locked in a room and one hears one's name being called out, and being answered too, at all different times of the day and night.

"Not in this lifetime, Summerby."

_Ah, that's his name. Played Seeker, if I remember. Trounced his arse every time._

"Pomfrey wants you."

"Right now?" Summberby cocked his head at Draco, indicating that he was 'on duty' until otherwise relieved.

Justin flicked his gaze at Draco and looked back at his friend. "'Fraid so."

Summerby's concern seemed genuine, but he also seemed frustrated by the simple request.

"Don't know what I can tell her beyond what I've already said."

"Yeah, well, seeing as how Potter's finally…"

_Potter? That's interesting_.

"Cognizant?" Summerby, after another quick glance at his 'charge', supplied a carefully chosen term.

"Yeah."

Draco watched as Summerby shuttled his weight between his shoulders and his hips.

_Make a decision already!_

Guess he said that out loud.

"Alright. I'll take him with me." Summerby would've rather dropped him down a mine shaft. "Do him some good to see his 'handiwork'."

_Great_… He mentally, and physically, rolled his eyes. _So I'm to be blamed for everyone who got hurt five days ago. Brilliant. Feck-fecking brilliant._

"Come on, Malfoy Two. Off to The Chapel with us." Summerby motioned for him to follow.

"But what about the invitations?" He gave Summerby his best lost-puppy look, just to tweak the 'Puffs. "Not that I had my heart set on a summer wedding, mind you. But as long as you and I are together…"

"Shove it and shut it, prat."

:

:

Some things he signed on for, when he accepted the indoctrination into the Order. A lot of shite that had come his way since then, wasn't. Being blamed for every injury since the dawn of time wasn't on that list either.

Weaving down hallways and skirting some of the more trafficked areas, it wasn't long before they entered The Chapel.

From what Draco had gleaned, it was the only section of any area of the Retreat where magic could be performed. And, since those who were injured, or would become injured in the future, would require magical medical aid, it made sense that The Chapel was the new hospital.

Pomfrey met them at the door. She led them to an area screened for privacy.

He heard them before he saw them.

Coming around the partition, Draco looked around.

A single bed was occupied. Granger.

On one side of her sat Weaslebee, hands tangled, wrists propped on his knees.

Potter, definitely peaked but otherwise sound, was reading aloud from some book. From the way Wonderboy was mangling iambic pentameter, he half expected Shakespeare to burst out of the pages and stalk off in disgust.

Both looked up when Pomfrey bustled forward.

Weaslebee shot her an accusatory glare. "What's _he_ doing here?"

Potter, dressed in a knitted jumper and striped pajama bottoms, immediately bristled. Draco would be willing to bet that Potter didn't even know he'd shifted his chair closer to the bed.

Pomfrey didn't spare any words for Weaslebee.

"Summerby, thank you for coming."

"Glad to." His 'escort' tucked his hands into his pockets as he waited for Pomfrey to start

"Tell it to me again."

Potter and Weaslebee looked at the 'Puff. They'd obviously heard whatever it was that Summerby was going to say, but they paid attention anyway.

Draco's attention wandered. Granted this was the first time he'd been 'allowed' in The Chapel, but a hospital ward was a hospital ward. Given the fact that he was now a hunted man along with the rest of them, it was only a matter of time until he christened one of these cots.

His gaze moved to Granger.

She didn't look good. Her clothes were the same ones he last saw on her. The skin around her cheekbones and fingers looked pinched. A narrow tube extended from a transparent, fluid-filled pouch that hung from a standee and burrowed into the top of her left hand. In her right hand, he could see the polished wood of a wand.

"…she called me 'Malfoy' and then passed out."

Summerby had apparently finished whatever it was he was saying. Not that he listened to any of the kid's drivel.

_No. That wasn't entirely accurate_.

"So that's why everyone calls you, me," Draco drawled. The part where Granger dubbed him 'Malfoy' appealed to his dark sense of humor.

"Did she say if she'd been hit with a spell?" Pomfrey pressed, clearly overlooking his interjection.

Summerby shook his head. "It's like I told you before. She didn't say anything, really. One minute I'm walking, the next minute she materialized next to me. She didn't look steady. I reached for her. She called me 'Malfoy', and then passed out. I brought her to you. End of story."

_Well, aren't you just the helpful Hufflepuff_, Draco silently snarked. _I should send a thank-you note for the distraction, though. Should be delivered sometime after I fetch Mother._

_This explains why the Gruesome Threesome didn't sit in on my 'Welcome to the Playhouse' tea party_.

He looked at Granger again. Something niggled something in the back of his mind. He studied her more intently.

"This is not good. Not good at all." Pomfrey, normally unflappable, crossed her arms across her chest and sighed in apparent defeat.

Weaslebee abruptly stood. He raked a hand though his hair. "But we don't match. You tested us as potential candidates. All of us. None of us match."

Pomfrey glanced at her patient. "Coupled with the lingering effects of an untreated Cruciatus Curse-"

Judging by the looks on her friends' faces, Granger didn't tell them that the events that took place on the floor of his family's drawing room dogged her. He wasn't surprised that her two 'best friends' didn't know, or bother to learn, how to treat the Gryffindor princess' post-Cruciatic condition.

_Nasty bit of work, that curse_. Thankfully, his mother was always able to help him, provide the necessary potions and incantations to heal him when Bella's or the Dark Lord's wand unleashed that particular Curse on him.

"- physical exhaustion, malnutrition, and depression, she expended too much magic in too short at time." Pomfrey walked to the foot of Granger's bed, clearly stumped. "A transfusion of magic, along with some restorative potions, would re-set her innate healing capabilities. But something's stopping the transfer, blocking it from happening."

That 'something' had a name. And Draco just figured out what 'it' was.

"What's that?"

"What's 'what', Malfoy?" Potter asked warily.

"_That_." Draco pointed at the wand that Granger was strangling.

"It's a wand, Malfoy. A w-a-n-d. You know, it's a long, pointed, fits in your hand-"

"Clever, Weaslebee. Did you think of that all by yourself or did Granger leave you a crib sheet of quips should she ever be unable to say them for you?"

Summerby bodily snagged Weasley 'round the waist before the ginger oaf hurdled Granger's bed to get at him.

"I know _what_ it is." Draco pointed at the wand again. "But it's not _hers_."

"How do you know?" Potter asked, his interest peaked.

"I'd know that wand anywhere. I'm surprised you didn't recognize it, Pott-head."

"Stop patronizing everyone, Malfoy. If you've got something to say, then just say it."

"Potter – that's my _aunt's_ wand."

Pomfrey's hand found her throat. Realization set in within a minute. "That's Bellatrix Black's wand!"

"Lestrange, technically," Draco corrected, feeling the need to be a bit snarky for 'old times' sake'.

"What does that have to do with anything!"

"Keep your pants on, Weaslebee. No need to burst our eardrums with your high-pitched girly-arsed whine just because you put two and two together and came up with three-and-a-half."

He didn't like the way Pomfrey was suddenly focused on him. Especially since he had an inkling as to where this was going.

"Your mother is Narcissa Black."

Draco really didn't like the prickly feeling that crept up his arms. "Malfoy, technically."

Pomfrey pointed a finger at Summerby. "Go fetch McGonagall – right now! Tell her to come here immediately. I don't care what she's doing. Just get her here. She's going to want to be here when Miss Granger wakes up."

The way the 'Puff scrambled out of The Chapel was almost comical.

"You know how to help Hermione?" Potter was all ears. His hand drifted down to the girl's shoulder.

Pomfrey's hand grasped Draco's upper arm. She chased Potter out his chair and sat Draco down at Granger's bedside. She then ordered Draco to scoot closer to the bed.

"The wand chooses the wizard, gentlemen, for many reasons. There's a connection that's made, between wand and wizard – witch – that only grows with time. The relationship between a witch – wizard – and the wand becomes symbiotic."

Draco stamped down the urge to challenge the gangly ginger to not only spell the word 'symbiotic', but use it in an original sentence.

"Not that a wand can become sentient, but it's not entirely without the ability to absorb a bit of its wielder." Pomfrey's eyes drifted shut as she struggled to convey the concept in a way the two Gryffs would understand..

_Salazar's left nut - how does Granger put up with these two dunderheads?_

Draco simplified things, for his own sake.

"Granger and Aunt Bella are as diametrically opposite as they come."

He was tempted to define the word 'diametrically', but held himself back - barely.

"The wand is attuned to Bella. It has a bit of her in it, just as a bit of the wand was in her. Hence their 'symbiotic' connection."

Potter bristled at his dig at the red-headed wonder. Pomfrey's silent admonishment cut his fun short. He got back to translating the medical theory into 'dim-wit speak'.

"Except now, Granger has it. And, somehow, the wand knows that Granger is Bella's enemy." He sounded like a bloody text book! "Even though the wand responded to whatever commands she gave it, the wand, via my oh-so-lovely-and-deranged aunt, is attacking Granger the only way it knows how: magically."

Pomfrey nodded.

_She should. I'm right_.

"And, because the wand is now bonded with Miss Granger, and Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black is a blood-relation-"

A blur of evergreen robes bustled into their area and interrupted her.

"Poppy – I'm here." McGonagall was slightly out of breath. Her concern was clear. "What's going on? What's this have to do with Miss Granger?"

"I'm about to be drained in order to save your precious Gryffindor princess," Draco groused snidely.

Not that he was opposed to helping. He just didn't like not being given a choice about the matter. Not that he was going to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Helping Granger would go a long way in helping others accept him. It'll also be a mile-marker on his road to atonement.

Not to mention the side-effects that would come with such an exchange.

Draco felt all eyes turn to him, as Pomfrey pointed in his direction. "Mister Malfoy is the match we've been searching for."

"Thank Merlin!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"Wait, wait, wait." Potter didn't like it. "Are we sure about this?"

Draco rolled his eyes at Scarhead. "Do you need us to explain it again, Potter? Would flash-cards help? A slate and some chalk?"

"Yeah – there's gotta be another way. I'm tellin' ya, right here, right now." The ginger pointed a finger at Draco. "There's no way Hermione would ever let him near her."

Weasley didn't warrant an acknowledgement.

McGonagall looked to Pomfrey. "Do you have everything you need, Poppy?"

"Yes, I do."

Draco pushed his hair off his forehead. _Nothing for it now_.

He eased Bella's wand free of Granger's grip. He clasped her hand firmly, and waited for the mediwitch.

The wand movements the nurse made were fluid and confident. _At least someone around here knows what they're doing_.

The out-flow of his magic occurred immediately. But it didn't seep past where their hands joined.

He looked to Pomfrey and ignored Pott-head and Weaslebee. "She's fighting me."

"She can probably sense your git-ness and doesn't want to be contaminated."

McGonagall peered down her nose and silenced the ginger with a glare. "That's enough, Mister Weasley." To Draco, she spoke more respectfully. "Can you reach her?"

"Through Legilimency?" That could work. "Probably." One problem with that, though. "But I don't have a wand." He slid his gaze to Potter. "He had it last and I'd very much like to have it back."

"Potter – pass Malfoy his wand," McGonagall all but ordered. "This is important. We're talking about Miss Granger's life, not some childhood feud."

"You think I don't know that?!" Potter looked contrite and exasperated at the same time. He carded a hand through his hair. "If I had it, I'd give it to him. But I don't. I lost it sometime during the fight."

"Too bad." He really was attached to his hawthorn and unicorn hair wand.

"Say 'symbiotic', and I'll-"

The Scot cut Potter's threat short.

"Mister Malfoy, can you do it wandlessly?" McGonagall pressed, a thread a hope carried.

He grimaced. Could he? "It'll take a bit of what I'd have to give, but maybe."

"Please, try."

That request came from Madam Pomfrey.

He re-gripped Granger's hand firmly but gently.

He focused.

It didn't take much to shut out McGonagall's expectant stare. Or Pomfrey's concern for both her patients. He shut out Weaslebee's exaggerated huffing. Potter was a bit more of a challenge.

"Potter – put a lid on it." He could feel the Gryffindor's magic radiate out, protective – and more than a mite possessive – of the girl in the bed.

He could feel Potter's hackles rise. "I'm not doing anything."

"Defensive much, Potter?" He opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on Pomfrey and McGonagall. "Get them out of here. It'll be hard enough to reach past her barriers and Bella's, but these two – especially that one," he eyed Potter specifically, "are insulating her further. If you have any hope of this working, get them out of here!"

Potter and Weasley protested. But it was McGonagall's blunt statement that they, yes, them, were going to be responsible for killing Granger if they stayed.

The professor hustled them away.

It was just him, the mediwitch, and Granger.

He pressed his palm to hers.

Pomfrey reset the transfer spell.

He closed his eyes.

He focused.

He whispered the incantation. "_Legilimens_."

A rush of images and emotions washed over him.

:

:

She stayed on that bench at King's Cross.

She watched the people.

She watched the trains.

The sight of the out-bound trains grew more appealing.

"Granger."

Her head twisted towards whoever it was who said her name.

It was the last person she ever expected to see.

"Malfoy?"

He approached her carefully, clearly unsure of how she'd react to him. He stopped several feet away from her.

"Stay away!"

Clearly, he wasn't surprised by her outburst. She, though, couldn't fathom why he was 'here'. Or why he hadn't snapped back at her in retaliation for her harsh greeting. Instead, all she saw was forced patience stretch from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head.

"You need to let me come closer."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "Why?"

"I can't help you from here."

That's was an odd thing to hear. And entirely too cryptic for her liking.

"Who says I want your help?"

He seemed to expect her to say that.

"You don't. But your friends do."

She wasn't expecting him to say _that_.

This was clearly the oddest conversation she'd ever had.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands to his shoulders, the universal symbol of 'I've got nothing to hide'.

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

He all but growled.

_That_ was more like the Malfoy she knew and mistrusted.

"I don't know why you're so aggravated. I didn't ask you to come here."

He zeroed in on her and lowered his hands. He stuffed them into his trouser pockets. Whatever it was that he was thinking, it wasn't what he decided on saying.

He glanced around at where they were. He looked like he almost approved. "Nice metaphor."

"Isn't it, though." She matched his chortle.

He carded a hand through his hair. He pursed his lips, and seemed to make up his mind about something.

"Granger – you're dying. That's why you're here."

_Guess there's something to be said about stripping things bare._ She sat up straighter. That part she'd figured out for herself.

"But what you haven't figured out is that you don't have to die."

She shot him a wary look, heavily weighted with skepticism.

"Look, Granger, I don't have a lot of time."

She could tell that he truly believed what he was saying.

"The longer I spend having to convince you that I'm here to help you, the less likely this is going to work."

She considered his words, but didn't know if she could believe him or not.

"I can't do what I have to do unless I can touch you."

"You know that I don't trust you," she stated baldly. She laid out their past with one look. "You know why."

He blew out a breath. For a moment, he seemed a bit dejected. "I know, Granger." His pushed that aside and put his hands on his hips. "I have a proposition for you."

"I can't imagine how I'd be receptive to anything you have to say." She didn't feel guilty about her hoity come-back.

"Which is why I'm proposing not to 'say' anything at all."

That didn't make any sense.

"It'll make sense in a minute, Granger." He took another step towards her. "I'll let you inside my head, so that you can see that I don't mean you any harm."

Doubt grappled with her curiosity.

He took three more slow steps before he stopped.

"Think about it, Granger."

Her curiosity, and his enticement, pushed back her doubt by another degree.

He took another couple of steps. He was an arm's length away.

Curiosity won, but by a very narrow margin.

She shifted on the bench, motioning to the empty place beside her.

He sat down.

She could see him clearly. He didn't look quite right.

"Why do you look so strained, Malfoy?"

He cut his gaze to her. His silvery eyes brooked his frustration and his resolve to do whatever it was he'd been insisting that he had to do.

"Because you're so bloody stubborn!" He pinched his nose and inhaled slowly. Just as slowly, he breathed out, reasserting his forced patience. "Look, Granger, we don't – I don't – have a lot of time left."

She felt her apprehension rise. Malfoy looked like it was a struggle to continue to sit next to her. "What's the matter Malfoy – my dirty blood too much for you?"

"Don't get snippy, Princess."

Then, he forced himself to relax.

"Granger – every time you get defensive, or worse, go on the offensive, it forces me to back away from you because you're pushing me away! It's basic psychology. The more you fight me, the less I can help you because in order to do what I have to do, I have to touch you – mentally, magically, and physically."

She wasn't expecting to hear him tell her that he'd have to connect his magic with hers. She turned to face him. "What's wrong with me?"

"My aunt wants you – and everyone like you – dead."

"That's twice, now, that you didn't hold back." Hermione felt her hand drift down to the scar that trailed the length of the inside of her left arm. "Bellatrix made sure anyone who looked at me would never forget what I am."

Malfoy peeled back his own sleeve. He exposed his left forearm. The Dark Mark, its vividness faded but still there, contrasted with his pale skin.

He reached for her. Gently, more gently then she ever thought he was capable, he slid the cuff of her sleeve up to her elbow.

The word 'Mudblood' was spelled out in pink-hued scars. Bellatrix had carved it there with the same Dark knife that killed Dobby.

She stared at their two tattoos. Her defenses crumbled that much more.

"Granger…" Malfoy's drawl sounded more… intimate.

She felt so many things…

She pressed her lips into a thin line, contemplating what she most needed to know. "Is it going to hurt?"

He answered honestly. "I don't know. I've never done this before, so I don't know what to expect. But I do know that you have to be ready to do this. This can't happen without your consent."

She thought about that for a moment. "This is going to affect us, even afterwards – isn't it?"

"I don't know. I expect so. But I can't say for certain or how."

She nodded, processing his assertions. "Harry said I wouldn't remember any of this."

Malfoy took her reveal in stride. Almost like he wasn't surprised that Harry had come to her but couldn't do what he could do.

"Maybe we won't. Maybe we will."

"Does your offer still stand?"

"To look inside my mind?"

"Yes."

"Yes, it does."

She wasn't expecting him to say that. But then again, if he rescinded his initial offer, she knew she'd feel disappointed.

"What do I have to do?"

"Just let it happen; don't fight it. I'll do everything else."

She picked up his left hand with her left hand. It took her a moment to figure out how to do it, but she twisted and rotated their wrists so that his Mark hovered over her scar.

"More metaphors, Granger?" His voice was thick, like she was forcing him to acknowledge something he wasn't ready to accept.

A flash of insight flared. "Somehow, I think you recognize the symbolism as much as I do."

The moment that stretched between them seemed… significant.

"Ready, Granger?" His breathing sounded labored.

She nodded.

He pressed their forearms together.

Pain lanced her, like too much of something she couldn't name was being forced against some sort of barrier that didn't want to give.

She screamed. She struggled to free herself. If she could get away, it would stop hurting!

"Don't… Granger… Too soon…" He twisted her around, her back to his chest, forearms mashed together, and held their connection tight.

She twisted to the right, then left. She bucked.

"Hold on, Granger! I'm going to open my mind, give you a place to go!"

The pain coalesced at that barrier… An influx of powerful magic pressed harder and harder against the barrier. It was like he was drawing her magic out of her and forcing it to back-flow against that barrier while at the same time he channeled an additional flood of magic into the same small, tight place.

Then, the barrier gave. Magic like she'd never felt before coursed through her mind, body, and spirit. Indescribable agony took hold of her.

:

:

At her first scream, Harry paled.

The only time when she stopped screaming was when she took a breath, so that she could scream some more.

Harry, Ron, and McGonagall ran back to her bed.

Malfoy had her pressed against him, his chest to her back, their left arms mated from elbow to wrist. Hermione writhed, to throw him off her. A potent hazy golden glow enveloped them.

"Poppy!" McGonagall shouted fretfully over Hermione's keening. The mediwitch immediately cast a _Muffliato_ to protect the other patients.

"Hermione!" Harry hollered. He lunged for her. It was Pomfrey's grip on his arm that kept him from tearing Malfoy off of her.

Ron was being held in place by McGonagall.

"Don't let him go, Minerva! Keep him back!" Pomfrey ordered.

"Tell me this is normal!" McGonagall was frantic for reassurance.

"It's not."

Harry vaguely heard Pomfrey's explanation for the harrowing scene taking place.

"But Miss Granger was so far gone… It was too much to hope for a smooth transfer..."

Harry wrenched himself free of Pomfrey. Three strides had him fisting Malfoy's collar. With strength he seldom used, he tore the Slytherin off of Hermione and threw him to the ground.

Connection broken, Hermione stopped her terrible screaming. She slumped forward but didn't faint. She hovered on the edge of unconsciousness, whimpers her only language.

He gathered her up in his arms, tipped her head to his shoulder. Ron slid onto the bed, intent on cradling her other side only to be magically pushed back before he could touch her. Harry crooned soothing words at her as he stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her trembling body.

Unable to physically comfort Hermione, Ron eyed Malfoy contemptuously. "What the hell did you do to her!"

Pomfrey had stooped to help Malfoy into a chair that McGonagall put to rights. Harry heard the mediwitch call out for someone – anyone – to bring her a restorative potion, a Dreamless Sleep draught, and two glasses.

"Answer me!" Ron hissed, not wanting to shout in Hermione's ear.

Malfoy's eyes cracked open. He was still panting. A smug smirk creased his face as he slowly recovered his composure. The blond's attention was fixed firmly on his grip on Hermione, not on the boy regulated to a nearby chair.

"Something you obviously _couldn't_, Potter."

The arsehole practically gloated as he threw down the proverbial gauntlet.

"If you've hurt her…"

"I _saved_ her." Malfoy cut Ron off before he could say any more of his threat. "That's a fact that you and Potter are going to have to live with."

* * *

><p>Again - not a new chapter, but definitely a cleaned-up version, right?<p>

Please - let me know what you think!

I'm working on the next couple of chapters right now and should have them ready by the weekend. Wish me luck!


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